


A Good Catch

by Tish



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Down the Chimney Affair, Gen, Getting Together, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21974092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: It's early in their partnership, but Napoleon and Illya are thinking about making another type of partnership.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	A Good Catch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jkkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jkkitty/gifts).



> Written for the Down the Chimney Affair 2019.
> 
> Prompts: Christmas, Capitalism, unusual gift.

“You disapprove?” Napoleon's words had been meant in jest, but there was still an underlying desire for a serious answer.

Illya surveyed the lights of the storefronts again, the red and green glow highlighting upon the metallic surfaces of the consumer goods on offer. “I merely made a sound of surprise, not judgement,” he answered cautiously.

“Even in Mother Russia your people celebrate Christmas, no matter what the government of the day declares, even I know that,” Napoleon countered, a smile creeping over his face.

“Well, that's certainly true, Napoleon. I've also lived in Europe and the United Kingdom during a few festive seasons,” Illya paused, before pointing at the garish decorations. “Let us just say that Americans are a little overwhelming, sometimes.”

“Ah, you'll get used to it, Illya,” Napoleon said with a laugh. “I'll show you Rock Center, the tree is a joy to behold.”

Illya was going to say something, but thought better of it as a group of people laden with wrapped boxes and bags spilled out from the store and loitered in the middle of the sidewalk, chatting away merrily. He let Napoleon lead them away, silently taking in the light and colour.

As they walked, Napoleon now and again stole a glance at his new colleague, trying to weigh up what Illya was all about. In the few weeks they'd worked together, there was a seeming reticence to share his feelings and opinions, Napoleon had noticed. He wondered if that was a national trait, or just an Illya Kuryakin one.

A fresh, cold wind started to pick up as they walked, and Napoleon huddled into his coat. “We should be in for some snow later tonight, maybe not as much as you're used to, but it'll be a start.” he began, conversationally, before turning more serious. “Illya, I really want you to feel at home here. If there's anything I can do for you, just say the word.”

They turned a corner, right into a stiff breeze, and the bright lights of the huge Christmas tree in the plaza.

“It's beautiful, Napoleon, ” Illya said softly, the chill wind not bothering him at all. “You've been so welcoming, already. I can't ask for anything more. In fact, perhaps I can ask you for less?”

“Less?” Napoleon repeated, confused.

“Yes. The canteen menu at headquarters, for instance. There was no need to ask the ladies to prepare anything special for me, I will put anything in my mouth,” Illya replied with a slight smile.

Napoleon almost stopped walking in surprise. “I expressly asked them not to say it was me!”

Illya was smiling openly now, and he said with glee, “I didn't have to ask, Napoleon.”

“My schemes are that obvious, then?” Napoleon asked, almost laughing. “I shall have to up my game.”

“We have to be cunning in our profession, do we not?” Illya said, coming to a halt. “That is very interesting. Your Mr. Rockefeller is a curious character, indeed.”

Napoleon looked up at the bas-relief murals lining the walls. “He had a flair for the dramatic, I'll give him that.”

“An capitalist industrialist with a fascination for communist iconography is not something I expected to find,” Illya admitted as he studied the wall.

“I never noticed that. I wonder how many other people have walked by this and haven't noticed, either,” Napoleon mused.

“Perhaps it is a sinister plot to turn every American citizen into a communist?” Illya teased as they resumed walking.

“You'll never get our freedom-loving hamburgers,” Napoleon challenged.

Illya took a step closer to him, a stern look in his eyes. “I will if we get some dinner at one of your degenerate capitalist eateries.”

Napoleon raised a finger in the air, triumphantly. “That, my friend, is where you fall into our little trap. Once you get an American hot-dog between your lips, you'll be turned.”

Illya blinked a few times, seemingly considering the idea. “Of course, now you have revealed your plan, I shall counter and succeed in turning _you_ with a well-seasoned kolbasa sausage.”

“We have reached an impasse. Perhaps another nation could intercede and stage a truce,” Napoleon said as they reached a Chinese take-out.

Illya scrutinised the menu. “Yes, this is a good plan for world peace.”

“And if we go back to my apartment, the French can assist with our peace talks by supplying the lubrication.” Napoleon patted down his coat and felt inside his jacket.

“The Dutch would like to make a traditional offer,” Illya said as he handed over some small bills.

“Going halves shows a noble spirit. Thank you, Illya,” Napoleon said as he fished out some notes of his own.

*^*

At Napoleon's, Illya devoured his noodle box like a man condemned, while somehow still finding time to savour every morsel. “It is fascinating to see how a local cuisine changes and adapts to a new environment. Traditionally prepared Chinese food is a different beast to the Americanised version,” he trailled off as he paused to sip some wine. “A beautiful bouquet. Very good choice, Napoleon.”

“I've been told I have excellent taste,” Napoleon admitted as he shifted a fraction closer to Illya on the couch.

“All the better for seduction, one would imagine,” Illya answered before draining his glass.

“Well, an American hot-dog needs something good to help wash it down,” Napoleon said as he opened another bottle.

“Is this what you consider seduction, Napoleon? Silly innuendo?” Illya suddenly said as he swirled his empty glass around.

Napoleon grinned slyly. “Well, it got you here, didn't it? Besides, you started it.”

“No, I believe it was you who inserted puerile meaning where there was none,” Illya retorted evenly, raising an eyebrow.

Napoleon casually answered. “You use a word like _inserted_ and not expect me to rise to the bait?”

There was a flicker of movement as Illya looked down at Napoleon's crotch for the tiniest of moments. “You're a keen fly-fisherman, I take it?”

Napoleon grinned, starting to laugh. “I don't think we should continue this line, I'm sure you have a little worm jibe lurking.”

“You're the one who said it, Napoleon,” Illya said seriously, but with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Napoleon checked the wine bottle and started to pour some out. “I think I should get you drunk more often, if this is going to be what our relationship is going to be like.”

Illya held out his glass, moving closer, and kept his hand touching Napoleon's, even after his glass was filled. “I am perfectly sober.”

Napoleon clinked their glasses together, not moving away. “I hope this isn't some sort of test or trap?”

“If you truly thought that, then surely you would not have remained here like this,” Illya said through a suddenly dry throat.

Napoleon slowly took Illya's glass away, setting it on the table with his own. Moving closer, he took Illya's hand in his, then watched his eyes as they searched Napoleon's face.

“Yes,” said Illya, quiet and low.

Napoleon leaned in and tenderly kissed Illya, pulling back to gaze intently at him. “Have I passed the test?”

“With flying colours,” Illya said breathlessly, soft and open.

“How shall we play this?” Napoleon asked.

Illya seemed to be thinking of the right answer. “Play? Do you wish it to be a game, then?”

“It doesn't have to be. We can take it slower,” Napoleon said gently.

Illya was still tentative. “Let me decide at the end of the month, please?”

Napoleon nodded. “Yes, this is something we shouldn't rush into.”

^*^

Illya remained as professional as ever during the next week, something for which Napoleon was grateful, as he was busy examining his own feelings.

One morning, he walked into their office and noticed the small, gift-wrapped box sitting on the desk. He waited until Illya sauntered in with a cup of coffee, then picked it up, slowly shaking it.

“You may open it now, or wait until Christmas,” Illya said nonchalantly, as he leaned on Napoleon's desk.

With a smile of anticipation, Napoleon slipped the lid off, his smile quickly turning into a grin as he picked up the feathered fishing lure. “What can I catch with this, I wonder?”

Illya remained silent, raising his eyebrows meaningfully as he sipped his coffee.


End file.
